#brathühnchen

[ruthwritesalot]

The Adventures of Randy the Roast Chicken: The Pickle Jar

PSA: This story has been translated from German. If you speak German, I'd recommend you read the original

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“RANDY!” yells Hans.

I run to the kitchen. Standing there is Hans, in front of an open cabinet door, looking horrified.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.

“My pickle jar is gone!”

“FUCK.”

Hans’ pickle jar is holy to him. It was gifted to him by his ex soccer coach from his teenage years. Yes, Hans played soccer when he was a teenager. He was that kind of guy. Luckily he stopped because he had a lightbulb moment and realized soccer sucks. Still, the pickle jar has always stayed incredibly important to him because he had a crush on his coach at the time, and the dude gave it to him while crying and explained that he’d spent months making it himself.

“Are you sure it’s gone?” I ask as sensitively as I can.

“YES.”

“FUCK.”

We spend the rest of the day going through the whole apartment, but the pickle jar really is gone.

“Someone must have stolen it!” Hans says despairingly when it starts getting dark outside.

“But what kind of person would steal a pickle jar? What kind of person would steal a pickle jar out of our apartment?”

“No idea, but we’ve been living here for a year, and I still get the feeling, that there’s so many things I don’t know about roast chickens. Maybe they love pickle jars! Or maybe it’s not even a general roast chicken thing, maybe one specific roast chicken just desperately wanted this specific pickle jar!”

I sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. Okay, we have to try and remember what chickens have been in our apartment lately.”

We spend all night making a list. It ends up containing many of our friends, which is why we agree not to tell the story to any of our friends just yet. We take the list and make our way to the roast police. The roast police isn’t like the police that humans know of. The main difference is the fact that they always treat every roast chicken, no matter if they’re perpetrator or victim, roast chicken or roost chicken, with roast chicken rights.

Wie strike up a conversation with a roast officer, who tells us she’ll investigate everyone on our list. Naturally, we come along.

The first doorbell we ring is Lola’s.

“Where were you yesterday evening between six and seven o’clock?” Roast Officer Kay asks.

“What?” asks Lola. “The fuck is going on here? Randy, what happened?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. We both promised to keep our mouths shut,” I explain.

Lola rolls her eyes. “I swear, I really don’t know why I’m friends with you two. I was at home, watching a movie.”

Kay makes a note of this.

“Do you have any more questions? If so, please hurry,” Lola adds.

“I do, actually. Have you ever stolen a pickle jar?” asks Kay.

“Um… no?”

“Okay.” Kay writes down another note and then turns to Hans and me. “Who’s next on the list?”

I get it from my pocket. “Maya.”

“Vamos a la Maya.”

“Vamos a la Maya.”

We march on.

Maya is in her garden.

“Hey Hans, Randy, Kay,” she calls to us.

“You already know Kay?” Hans asks.

“Nah, but Kay’s name is on the uniform.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot.”

“Maya, where were you yesterday evening between seven and eight o’clock?” Kay asks.

“I was out with my group,” Maya explains.

“Your group?” asks Kay.

“Yeah,” answers Maya.

“What kind of group?”

“Just like, my group.”

“And what were you doing with the group?”

“Hot girl shit.”

“Hot girl shit?”

“Yeah, we always do hot girl shit. Every Wednesday at seven thirty.”

“Ah, I understand.” Kay makes a note of this. “Can we perhaps talk to someone from your group so to get a confirmation of your story?”

“Sure, I’ll call Johanna.” Maya holds her phone to her ear for half a minute before putting it down. “She can’t right now, she’s doing hot girl shit.”

“And the others?”

“Them too.”

“Okay.”

Next we go to Klaus. He opens the door and stares at us. We stare back. The thing about Klaus is that you could spend hours looking into his eyes. If there’s anyone for who the sentence ‘the eyes are the window to the soul’ is actually true, then it’s Klaus.

“Um… can we maybe have a look around?” Kay finally asks.

Klaus stares at us. We stare back.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says and moves aside.

We go inside. We look around. The pickle jar is nowhere to be seen.

“Klaus, did you steal a pickle jar from Hans?” asks Kay.

“Nope,” answers Klaus.

We go back outside.

Hans is very sad.

“It’ll be okay, we’ll find your pickle jar. I promise,” I try to comfort him.

“But what if we don’t find it? It’s the only thing I have left from my coach?”

“We’ll find it, even if we have to search the entire roast universe,” says Kay. “I’m an expert in things like this, and I almost always find the things I’m searching for.”

Hans looks at Kay with a dash of hope in his eyes. “Really?”

“Really,” says Kay and smiles.

We head to Margaret. The door is open so we just go inside. She’s sitting at the table in front of a Bunsen burner. And over the Bunsen burner…

“My pickle jar!” Hans yells and tries to pick it up, but burns himself in the process. “FUCK! MARGARET, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH MY PICKLE JAR AND A BUNSEN BURNER?”

“I wanted to see if it would melt,” she answers all chill.

Hans looks like he’d like to have her beheaded. “MELTS? MELTS? YOU WANTED TO MELT MY PICKLE JAR?”

“Okay so it wasn’t really about your pickle jar, it was about a pickle jar. I’ve melted lemon jars, orange jars, apple jars, mango jars, zucchini jars, blueberry jars, tomato jars, lime jars, banana jars, raspberry jars, cherry jars, bean jars, corn jars, carrot jars, pepper jars, mushroom jars, potato jars, blue cabbage jars, salad jars, cauliflower jars, red cabbage jars, broccoli jars, spinach jars, chard jars, clementine jars and pea jars before, but never a pickle jar. They’re really hard to find for some reason. That’s why I was so excited when I saw one at your place.”

Footnote: In the German language there are two names for red cabbage: Rotkohl in Northern Germany and Blaukraut in Southern Germany. The reasons for the different names is that the ground in these areas has a different pH value, causing the plant to be either red or green. In the story, this has been translated as Margaret speaking of blue cabbage and of red cabbage. They are, however, exactly the same thing.

“AND YOU JUST-“

“Hans,” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Come on, there’s no point.”

I take a potholder and pick up the pickle jar, then Hans and I head home and Kay goes back to work.

The pickle jar has now been put in an absolutely secure glass display case in our kitchen. If the glass gets broken or something, an alarm goes off. Hans is very happy with this, because he can now always keep his soccer coach who he had a strange relationship with in mind. And I’m happy because Hans is happy.

[doktor-disko]

Zugvogel, oder: das verspätete Brathühnchen

Wenn ich im Wind aus Stahl und Glas

über all die Pisten ras‘,

ich wander auf den Eisengraten,

kann ich erzähl‘n von tausend Arten

Bekanntschaften, die ich dort schloss,

Freundschaft, Zorn und and‘res spross,

wo Mahagoniebänk‘ man sieht,

währ‘nd vorne der Zugvogel zieht.

~

In diesen tausend kleinen Wagen,

die unzählige Gäste tragen,

die stündlich fahren auf den Trassen,

die Vielfalt dort kann man kaum fassen.

So trifft man Habicht, Raben, Spatzen,

die spielen, singen, oder ratzen,

wo edle Einrichtung man sieht,

währ‘nd vorne der Zugvogel zieht.

~

Die Henne nach dem Wasser sucht,

sie hat nur zweite Klass‘ gebucht,

drum find‘t sie leider nicht den Hahn,

muss durstig warten in der Bahn

und ihre Küken geben keine

Ruhe, spring‘n auf einem Beine

durch jedes Abteil, das man sieht

währ‘nd vorne der Zugvogel zieht.

~

Umher sich Schiebermützen schieben,

getragen von gefiedert Dieben,

von Tauben, blinden Passagieren,

die keine gute Absicht führen

in ihren Geigenkoffern, braun,

die im Gepäckfach sie verstau‘n,

bevor man sie beim Dealen sieht,

währ‘nd vorne der Zugvogel zieht.

~

Woanders rinnt in Eleganz

der Tee, man isst Frankfurter Kranz

und leise spielt ein Grammophon,

man spricht von Politik voll Hohn,

blickt in den Spiegel durch‘s Monokel,

könnt‘ sein ein selbstverliebter Gockel,

doch Eulen man im Spiegel sieht,

währ‘nd vorne der Zugvogel zieht.

~

So ist der Zug voll Passagieren,

die sich vor Reiseflügen zieren,

doch fand ich dort nur einen nett:

den Schaffnerstorch, war einst Kadett,

nun klappert er die Gäste ab,

prüft Tickets und ist stets auf Trab,

mit Missgunst man ihn oft besieht,

währ‘nd vorne der Zugvogel zieht.

~

Der frühe Vogel, sagt man oft,

der fängt den Wurm. Nicht unverhofft –

denn viel zu oft – kommt die Bahn jedoch zu spät,

was generelle Zwietracht sät,

und wenn man auch im Sommer friert

die Heizung dich sehr gern fritiert

und so schimpft jeder den man sieht,

währ‘nd vorne der Zugvogel zieht.

~

Doch diese, die die Ahnung haben,

die dienen uns mit ihren Gaben,

meist den Hass der Gäste spüren,

die so sich selbst zum Pfosten küren,

denn die die Schuld sind an der Planung,

das sind die Chefs, ganz ohne Ahnung,

die die man im Zug nie sieht,

währ‘nd vorne der Zugvogel zieht.

---

Doktor Disko

[ruthwritesalot]

The Adventures of Randy the Roast Chicken: Cosplay Day

PSA: This story has been translated from German. If you speak German, I'd recommend you read the original

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“RANDY! RANDY RANDY RANDY RANDY RANDY!” yells Hans.

“HANS HANS HANS HANS HANS!” I yell back.

“TODAY IS COSPLAY DAY!!!!!!!!”

“I KNOW!”

For the roast chickens, Cosplay Day is a holiday that celebrates everything about Cosplay. There are specific events for specific niche cosplay things where the actors or writers or whatever show up. It’s wonderful. This year, Hans and I are going as two pieces of toast from our favorite show about pieces of toast. It’s a great show. There are a lot of pieces of toast.

Hans, who is absolutely elated, tears me to the kitchen.

“I made a bunch of different toasts for breakfast to celebrate,” he explains.

“Isn’t that kind of cannibalism?” I ask, genuinely interested.

“Just don’t think about that,” he dismisses me.

There are indeed very many different kinds of toast on the breakfast table. They all have a different color, a different topping, a different extreme of toastedness and are made out of different kinds of bread, so they end up creating a nice, colorful mix.

“Omg HANS! I can’t believe how much effort you gave! That’s so nice of you I love it!” I squeal.

I jump on top of him to hug him and he falls over. Then we’re both lying on the ground. It’s not very nice. The ground is hard. That’s why we both stand back up. Then we eat breakfast. It tastes very delicious, even if there’s a chance it might be cannibalism. After that, we both put on our costumes. I’m Blue Toastette, who’s a green piece of toast. She’s a minor character, which I find to be a disgrace. She should be the main character. She’s the best one. Hans is Melanie. Melanie is the main character and a pink piece of toast. He always says that Melanie’s the best character, but that’s not true.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings.

“I bet it’s Lola!” I say and go to the door.

It is indeed Lola. She’s wearing a red wig and knight armor. Lola’s favorite show is some kind of knight show. I don’t really know it, but it seems to be pretty funny.

“What are you?” Hans asks.

“I’m Melanie, the knight who’s stronger than all the other knights,” she explains.

“OH MY GOD! Lola, my character is named Melanie, too!” yells Hans.

“Really? Wow. I guess it’s a popular name. Randy, go away, only Melanie’s are allowed in the group today.”

“What the hell?” I ask, outraged.

Lola shrugs her shoulders. “Should have dressed up as a Melanie too.”

“Blue Toastette is better than all the Melanies!”

Lola and Hans roll their eyes. They think Blue Toastette is shitty for some reason.

--

“Where do you guys want to go first?” Lola asks.

“Well, there’s this meet and greet with all the actors from Toastland in half an hour,” Hans says.

I don’t say anything. I’m still annoyed.

“Okay, we still have a few hours until the meet and greet for Knights: The Only Good Knights fans, we’ll have enough time for both our things and can even go somewhere in between.”

Suddenly a group of roast chickens comes towards us.

“You guys want punch?” asks one of them.

“Sure!” Hans and Lola say. I’m still annoyed, but I take a cup. The punch tastes very good.

“Hey, what’s in this?” Hans asks.

“Apple juice and beer,” one of the roast chickens answers.

“WHAT?” we all yell, but the group of roast chickens is already gone.

“Ohgodohgodohgod,” Lola says. “I think I can already feel the alcohol.” She starts to sway.

I’m also feeling dizzy all of a sudden. Hans falls over.

“HANS!” Lola and I yell.

“What? Um… I’m fine, I think.” He stands back up and walks against a pole. He turns around and grins at us.

“Oh shit. What are we gonna do now? We can’t miss our meet and greets!” I’m already getting very panicky.

“Ok, ok, stay calm,” says Lola. “We can do this. Can you walk straight?”

I try it out. “Somewhat.”

“Okay, then we’re both gonna take one of Hans’ arms and guide him to the meet and greet.”

That works out okay for a bit, but I’m slowly feeling dizzier and dizzier. Lola starts swaying from side to side, too. I just try to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Suddenly, I can’t see anything. But that doesn’t matter. I have to keep going. I have to meet the actors from Toastland.

“Randy!” I hear Lola yell.

“Lola? Where are you?” I try to look around, but I can’t see anything.

“Randy, stop walking! You won’t get anywhere, you’re on the ground!”

“What?” I lift my head. Suddenly I can see again, and Lola’s right, I am lying on the ground. Lola and Hans are lying next to me.

“Ok, come on, we can do this,” says Lola. “We’ll grab hold of each other and get up together. On three.”

“Ok.” I take her hands in mine.

“ONE.”

“TWO.”

“THREE.”

I pant. She pants. I want to cry, it’s so exhausting. But then I’m standing. So is Lola.

“Thank God,” Lola says. “I was starting to think I’d have to lay on that ground forever.

“Me too. Now we just have to get Hans and-“ I gasp. “Where’s Hans?”

We both look around. Hans is nowhere to be seen.

“I bet he ran away while we were getting up,” Lola says. She’s always the smartest among us. “Lets just go to the Toastland meet and greet, we’ll probably find him there.”

“Great idea!”

“Ok, let’s go.”

None of us goes.

“I said, let’s go!” Lola says again.

We still don’t move.

“Randy, do you by any chance know where we have to go?” she asks.

“No, I don’t even know where we are.”

“Bro, why didn’t you pay attention to the directions?”

“I was only paying attention to putting one foot in front of the other! Why weren’t you paying attention to the directions?”

“I thought you were paying attention! We were going to a meet and greet from your favorite show!”

Damn. She’s right about that.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I throw myself on the ground. “We’re gonna miss the meet and greet and we’ll never see Hans again and we’re gonna die here!”

Lola looks at me critically. “And you’re just gonna throw yourself on the ground?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“I guess not. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” All of a sudden, she’s lying next to me.

I have no idea how long we stay down. Everything spins. I have no feeling of time, place and in general anything. At one point I even think I hear a really loud siren.

The siren gets louder.

And louder.

And even louder.

“Lola,” I ask slowly, “do you hear a siren too?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly a gigantic piece of toast is flying towards us. It’s like a flying carpet, except that it’s a piece of toast. It has a gigantic siren, and Hans is on it with…

“The actors from Toastland!” I yell.

Hans grins really wide. “When I told them what happened, they said we need to save you right away.”

“But… but… how did you get away? You were the drunkest out of all of us!”

Hans claps his hands. “Randy, that’s the wonderful thing! None of us is or was ever drunk!”

“What?” Lola and I ask at the same time and look at each other confused.

“While you were trying to get up, I realized that I wasn’t actually feeling that drunk. I simply got up and walked away. And then I ran into the roast chickens with the punch, and they told me the beer in the punch is non-alcoholic! Both of you get up. Just try!”

Lola and I just try to get up. It works. We just get up.

“OH MY GOD!” we yell.

Hans grins. “Come on, get on the toast. We have to get to the Toastland meet and greet.”

Lola and I get on the toast. Then we fly to the Toastland meet and greet with Hans and the actors from Toastland. The actors are really cool, but they don’t say much for some reason. They still end up becoming some of our closest friends. After that, we fly to Lola’s meet and greet for her weird knight show. She thinks it’s awesome, but she’s the only one of us who gets it. In the evening we fly home and say goodbye to each other. There are lots of tears. Even if it was kind of weird at times, all in all it was a good Cosplay Day.

[ruthwritesalot]

The Adventures of Randy the Roast Chicken

For those who don't know, a while back I wrote a series of short stories in German called Die Abenteuer von Bruni dem Brathühnchen. In a nutshell, it's about a hidden universe of socialist roast chickens. I translated the first part into English but if you speak German I'd still recommend following the links on my page to read the German version.

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I open my eyes. Why is it so bright? I look at my phone. Fuck, I overslept. It’s always so hard getting out of bed in the winter. I rip the blankets off me and jump out of bed. I get dressed quickly but then make the decision that I’m already late enough that nothing matters anymore, so I eat breakfast at my own pace and dawdle to work slowly. I work in administration at this shitty company that produces some kind of boring shit. I hate my job.

Suddenly I hear a loud barking noise.

“No, Max, no!” yells the owner of the dog while she pulls him back. “Sorry,” she says to me.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it,” I assure her.

This would probably be a good time to mention that I’m a roast chicken. I know that’s probably confusing for you, seeing as most roast chickens get eaten. I was just never eaten, so I learned English and now I work in admin at the shitty company. I lead a completely normal life with the exception that animals are always trying to eat me.

I finally arrive at work.

“RANDY!” yells my boss. “Who do you think you are? You think you can just waltz in here whenever you want?”

“Sorry, overslept,” I say and throw myself on my desk chair.

“Hey Randy,” says Hans.

“Hey,” I say back.

Hans is my best friend.

“Hey!” says another squeaky voice behind me.

I turn around and do a double take. What the fuck is that? In front of me is… a roast chicken? That can’t be possible. I’m the only roast chicken in the world that can talk! But apparently, I’m not.

“I’m Lola,” says the roast chicken. “I started working today. I was already told there’s another roast chicken here, but I didn’t believe it. I always thought that I’m the only one!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too, until now,” I answer. “I’m Randy, nice to meet you.”

The rest of the day is great. Lola’s really funny. Roast chickens are apparently always fantastic. In the evening Hans, Lola and I go to a bar. Lola fits in perfectly with me and Hans, and it’s really nice to talk to the daily struggles of being a roast chicken who truly understands.

When Hans leaves for a moment, Lola suddenly looks directly into my eyes. “Randy, I have to tell you something.”

“What’s up?”

“We’re not the only two roast chickens.”

“What?”

“I’ve known you were here for a while. Us roast chickens have our own hidden society. But you must have somehow ended up with the humans when you were a little chicken, which is why I’m here to save you.”

Now I’m completely overwhelmed. “What. Save me from what? I’m doing well!”

Lola sighs. “Hans’ll be back soon. Meet me at midnight tomorrow at these coordinates.” She slides a piece of paper across the table.

Hans comes back and sitz down. Somehow, I can’t get myself to cheer back up for the rest of the night. Later I’m lying in bed and can’t sleep. Is Lola telling the truth about the other roast chickens? It is weird that she just showed up, even though I’d never heard of another roast chicken before. Should I meet up with her tomorrow?

Tomorrow at twelve sharp Hans and I are standing in an alley between a Walmart and a bad bakery.

“Why did you have to bring him?” Lola complains as she walks over with a suitcase in her hand. “Didn’t I make it obvious that no one’s supposed to know about this?”

“I don’t do anything without Hans,” I declare.

Lola rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” She opens the suitcase and puts it on the floor. “You just have to get in. I’ll show you, okay?”

Before I can say anything back, she’s already gotten in the suitcase and is suddenly gone. I look at Hans. He’s very helpful and shrugs his shoulders. I decide to follow Lola.

I land in a mysterious looking room. Lola is already there and Hans lands next to me. Lola snaps and is suddenly carrying the suitcase again.

“Randy! How nice that you’ve arrived. And who is this human?”

I turn around. Standing there is an uncooked roast chicken. “This is my best friend Hans. Who are you?” I ask.

“I’m the democratically elected president of the roast chickens.”

“Aha.”

“We hope, you and your friend will decide to stay,” the president continues.

“Why should we just randomly decide to move to a different universe?”

“Well,” Hans says, “we hate our jobs.”

“But work isn’t the only thing in life,” I answer.

“Maybe not, but the other half of my life is you. And I’d have you.”

I turn back to the president. “What’s so great about you guys that we should move here?”

“EVERYTHING is better here than in your shitty human universe!” the president yells, suddenly pretty agitated. “Us roast chickens are all radical leftists and hate capitalism. That’s written in our DNA. Aside from that, our fellow citizens are import to us, and we take care of them, when they need help. If you come live with us, you won’t need to have shitty jobs you hate anymore. Instead, even if you don’t like the job all that much, you’ll have great colleagues and nice bosses who don’t exploit you.”

“I gotta say, I don’t like my job all that much, but I don’t really feel all that exploited either.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Do you guys have really high taxes then?”

“It’s manageable. You get a lot in return.”

“Okay. It’s possible that humans and roast chickens have a different understanding about these things. Do you even know, what capitalism is exactly?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you explain it to me?”

“Nah.”

“Okay.” I look at Hans. “What do you think?”

“I think it sounds pretty good.”

“Okay.”

Hans and I obviously couldn’t just move away forever, considering he has a family and I also have a few humans that I like a little bit. But we’ve been living with the roast chickens for six months now, and I have to say, everything’s going absolutely great. We still visit the human world sometimes, and every time we remember why we moved away. We live together in an apartment now. Hans is studying literature from some reason. I work in admin for a nice little company. Life is good.

[ruthwritesalot]

Die Abenteuer von Bruni dem Brathühnchen: Teil 1

Ich öffne die Augen. Warum ist es schon so hell? Ich schaue auf mein Handy. Fuck, ich hab verschlafen. Im Winter ist es immer so anstrengend aus dem Bett zu kommen. Ich reiße die Bettdecke von mir weg und springe aus dem Bett. Ich ziehe mich schnell an, entscheide mich dann aber doch dafür das ich schon so spät dran bin das sowieso alles egal ist, also frühstücke ich noch in Ruhe und gehe dann schön langsam zur Arbeit. Ich arbeite an so einer scheiß Firma die irgendeinen langweiligen scheiß produziert in der Verwaltung. Ich hasse meinen Job.

Plötzlich höre ich ein lautes bellen. “Nein, Max, nein!” schreit die Besitzerin des Hundes während sie ihn zurückzieht. “Tut mir leid,” sagt sie zu mir.

“Alles gut, ich bin’s gewohnt,” versichere ich ihr.

Jetzt wäre wahrscheinlich ein guter Zeitpunkt zu erwähnen, dass ich ein Brathühnchen bin. Ich weiß, das verwirrt dich jetzt wahrscheinlich, die meisten Brathühnchen werden ja gegessen. Aber ich wurde einfach nie gegessen, also habe ich Deutsch gelernt und arbeite jetzt bei dieser scheiß Firma in der Verwaltung. Ich führe ein ganz normales Leben mit der Ausnahme, dass Tiere mich immer essen wollen.

Ich komme endlich bei der Arbeit an.

“BRUNI!” schreit mein Chef. “Was denkst du eigentlich, dass du einfach hier reinlaufen kannst wann auch immer du willst?”

“Sorry, hab verschlafen,” sage ich und werfe mich an meinen Schreibtisch.

“Hey Bruni,” sagt Hans.

“Hey,” sage ich zurück. Hans ist mein bester Freund.

“Hey!” sagt noch eine piepsige Stimme hinter mir. Ich drehe mich um und erschrecke mich hart. Was zum fick ist das denn? Vor mir steht… ein Brathühnchen? Aber das kann nicht sein. Ich bin das einzig sprechende Brathühnchen der Welt! Aber anscheinend doch nicht. “Ich bin Lola,” sagt das Brathühnchen. “Ich arbeite ab heute hier. Mir wurde schon gesagt, dass hier noch ein Brathühnchen arbeitet, aber ich konnte es nicht glauben. Ich dachte immer, ich bin die einzige!”

“Ja, das dachte ich bis jetzt auch,” antworte ich. “Ich bin Bruni, freut mich, dich kennenzulernen.”

Der Rest des Tages ist super. Lola ist richtig lustig. Brathühnchen scheinen immer toll zu sein. Abends gehen ich, Hans und Lola in eine Bar. Lola passt super zu mir und Hans dazu, und es ist richtig schön mit jemandem, der es wirklich versteht, über the daily struggles des Brathünchenseins zu reden. Als Hans kurz weggeht, schaut Lola mir auf einmal direkt in die Augen.

“Bruni, ich muss dir was sagen.”

“Was denn?”

“Wir sind nicht die einzigen zwei Brathühnchen.”

“Was?”

“Ich wusste auch schon länger, dass du hier bist. Wir Brathühnchen haben unsere eigene geheime Gesellschaft. Aber du bist als als Kleinhühnchen wohl irgendwie zu den Menschen gelangt, weshalb ich jetzt hier bin, um dich zu retten.”

Jetzt bin ich vollkommen überfordert. “Was. Wovor den retten? Mir geht’s gut!”

Lola seufzt. “Hans kommt gleich zurück. Treffe mich morgen um Mitternacht bei diesen Koordinaten.” Sie schiebt mir einen Zettel über den Tisch.

Hans kommt zurück und setzt sich wieder zu uns. Irgendwie kann ich mich den Rest des Abends nicht mehr aufheitern lassen. Später liege ich im Bett und kann nicht schlafen. Sagt Lola die Wahrheit über die anderen Brathühnchen? Es ist schon komisch, wie sie einfach so aufgetaucht ist, ohne das ich jemals zuvor was von einem Brathühnchen gehört habe. Sollte ich mich morgen mit ihr treffen?

Morgen um Punkt Mitternacht stehe ich mit Hans in einer Gasse zwischen einem Rewe und einem schlechten Bäcker.

“Wieso hast du ihn denn mitgebracht?” stutzt Lola, als sie zu uns kommt mit einem Koffer in der Hand. “Hab ich es nicht offensichtlich gemacht, dass niemand davon wissen soll?”

“Ohne Hans mache ich nichts,” erkläre ich.

Lola verdreht die Augen. “Na gut.” Sie öffnet ihren Koffer und legt ihn auf den Boden. “Ihr müsst nur in ihn reinsteigen. Ich mache es einmal vor, ja?”

Bevor ich irgendetwas erwidern kann ist sie schon in den Koffer gestiegen und ist auf einmal weg. Ich schaue Hans an. Er ist sehr hilfreich und zuckt mit den Achseln. Ich entscheide mich dafür, Lola zu folgen.Ich lande in einem seriös aussehenden Raum. Lola ist schon da und Hans landet neben mir. Lola schnippt und hat den Koffer auf einmal wieder in der Hand.

“Bruni! Wie schön, dass du da bist. Und wer ist dieser Mensch?”

Ich drehe mich um. Da ist ein ungekochtes Brathühnchen. “Das ist mein bester Freund Hans. Wer sind Sie?” frage ich.

“Ich bin die demokratisch gewählte Präsidentin der Brathühnchen.”

“Aha.”

“Wir hoffen, du oder auch ihr entscheidet euch zu bleiben,” führt die Präsidentin fort.

“Wieso sollten wir denn einfach in ein anderes Universum ziehen?”

“Naja,” sagt Hans, “wir hassen unsere Jobs.”

“Aber Arbeit ist doch nicht das einzige im Leben,” antworte ich.

“Vielleicht nicht, aber die andere Hälfte meines Lebens besteht aus dir. Und dich hätte ich ja.”

Ich drehe mich wieder zur Präsidentin. “Was ist bei euch denn so toll das wir hierher kommen sollten?”

“ALLES ist bei uns besser als in eurem scheiß Menschenuniversum!” schreit die Präsidentin, auf einmal ganz aufgeregt. “Wir Brathühnchen sind alle von Grund auf radikal links und wir hassen Kapitalismus. Das geht gar nicht anders, das ist so in unserer DNA verankert. Außerdem sind uns unsere Mitbürger wichtig, und wir kümmern uns um sie, wenn sie Hilfe brauchen. Wenn ihr zu uns kommt, dann müsst ihr nicht mehr scheiß Jobs haben die ihr hasst, sondern auch wenn ihr den Job nicht so toll findet werden ihr super Arbeitskollegen haben und nette Chefs, die euch nicht ausbeuten.”

“Ich muss sagen, ich mag meinen Job zwar nicht, aber so krass ausgebeutet fühle ich mich jetzt auch nicht.”

“Das ist nicht der Punkt.”

“Sind bei euch die Steuern dann auch richtig hoch?”

“Es geht. Ihr bekommt aber auch viel dafür.”

“Okay. Es kann ja sein, dass Menschen und Brathühnchen das anders verstehen, wisst ihr denn überhaupt genau, was Kapitalismus ist?”

“Ja.”

“Kannst du es mir erklären?”

“Nö.”

“Okay.” Ich schaue Hans an. “Was meinst du?”

“Also ich finde es hört sich ganz gut an.”

“Okay.”

Hans und ich konnten natürlich nicht einfach für immer wegziehen, schließlich hat er eine Familie und ich habe auch gewisse Menschen, die ich einigermaßen mag. Aber wir wohnen jetzt seit sechs Monaten bei den Brathühnchen, und bis jetzt läuft alles absolut super. Wir besuchen immer noch manchmal die Menschenwelt, und jedes Mal erinnern wir uns daran, wieso wir weggezogen sind. Wir leben jetzt zusammen in einer Wohnung. Hans studiert aus irgendeinem Grund Literatur. Ich arbeite bei einer netten kleinen Firma in der Verwaltung. Das Leben ist schön.